


Peacekeeper

by junipersand



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, angel!quackity, angel-demon hybrid!bad, bad is immortal, crystalian!skeppy, demon!puffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29085918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junipersand/pseuds/junipersand
Summary: “Until I reach the moon and the stars, you’re the only one that I want.”Then what happens to me when you finally reach them?“… if the night sky is in my embrace, I hope you catch me when I fall from grace.”Bad has lived for countless millennia, his duty as a Peacekeeper never coming to an end. When the two realms finally unite, what was his purpose then?
Relationships: BadBoyHalo & Dream, BadBoyHalo & Skeppy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	Peacekeeper

“Until I reach the moon and the stars, you’re the only one that I want.”

_Then what happens to me when you finally reach them?_

“… if the night sky is in my embrace, I hope you catch me when I fall from grace.”

Eyes like stars, skin like night. Halo like the moon, and wings like aurorean lights. Voice like a river’s hymn, horns like polished obsidian. Dark wings rising, the only snuffed star in a sky full of bright diamond lights. Gentle halo descending, the only lantern in an underground of gloom and doom. Repulsed by the Heavens and cast out by the Underworld, forever wandering the line that was the mortal realm in search of a place called home.

“Oh, Bearer of Heaven’s Radiance. Oh, kin of Tainted Blood. Where do you reside? Where do you belong? Will mortals sing songs of your greatest deeds? Or will mortals cry for your harrowing sins? Choose wisely – awry spirit of opposing realms, vile creature of Nevermore, descent of Ether; for your footsteps are the road that the future lays.”

Born between the borders of two worlds, a requiem happening in place of joy. Carrying the best and worst of both domains, his tale was told to unite two sides into one. The prophecy foretold his coming and his success. A peacekeeper’s job was never easy, but he pulls it off and holds the bonds with every thread of his being. For centuries, he wandered both worlds endlessly, for thousands and millions of times, each round carrying a new task or responsibility.

The role of a peacekeeper never rested, but he had eternity to work with. Unlike the others—the pure-blooded—his eternal task was to walk the fragile lands between domains, now strengthened from his countless trips and treaties. His job was always dangerous and nearly fruitless, but time was a construct, and he would finally reap the seeds of peace he sowed so long ago. It was exactly as the prophecy foretold.

But what happened to him once the revelation came to an end? What will he do then? A peacekeeper never rests to fulfill his duty, but that duty is no more. The only thing left for him to do is finally _rest_.

Millenia passed since he last visited the mortal realm. It had once been his home, where he could lie in peace and sit amongst animals that his kinds have helped create. They were anything but immortal; they aged, they reproduced, they died, and they lived short lives. That life happened to be filled with joy, one that he didn’t understand. Why would one be so happy to know that they were born to return to earth? Why would one be cheerful for a brief flash of light?

He tried to ask them, with both demonic distortions that sound like despairing wails and angelic hums that sound like harps and violins. They never understood him, looking at him with their two eyes, eight eyes, or no eyes at all. They would then scurry back to their homes, or lay on his lap and slumber.

He supposes that it was nice. A place where he belonged. A place between heaven and hell, a place where he’d dwelled before discovering his purpose.

Closing his eyes there didn’t sound half bad. This place was just like him—a realm hovering between darkness and light, between liquified stone and soothing winds. After uncharted years facing two extreme ends of a spectrum, the bridge amidst provided sanctuary for the one who did not belong.

The purposeless peacekeeper returning to the Bridge one last time. If only he accounted for new faces in the Overworld—beings that are neither virtue nor sin, beings that are like him but not. Beings born of flesh don’t live long. They die, they rot, and their remains feed their offspring. The cycle continues. It was simply nature’s law, where every day would always be the same as the last.

Until now.

He glanced upon the land that once prospered with life and beauty, now reduced to wastelands caused by something akin a devil’s curse. Holes dotted the land and craters that reached bedrock, almost no wildlife to be seen. His eyes widened as he took the sight in. He’d seen this before, once upon a time, a very long time ago.

_The ugliness of war._

“Who are you without your title?”

These creatures introduce themselves as “humans.” They’re half his height, they need to eat, drink and rest, and they grow old like mortal animals. But they can speak, they can communicate, albeit with languages that he doesn’t understand. Yet they thirst for war, they search for conflict amongst each other like fire and water. They’re descents from hundreds and thousands of years of war from demons and angels, and they inherited the worst of them.

He doesn’t approach them. Instead, they approach him. They speak dialect he doesn’t understand, and they express different faces he doesn’t recognize. Demons and Angels alike have faces like them, but they were forever empty and monotone. It was basic etiquette. To show a reaction means to be wrong, to be caught guilty. Yet these humans laugh freely and are angered quickly. They are not like him, and he is not like them. They are small and fragile, and he is not.

They were… peculiar. They didn’t behave like anything he’d observed in the past.

They welcomed him with food brought from their pantries. They try to communicate with him with words he doesn’t understand. While they lay waste to their enemies and plunder their lands, they express kindness to whom they see fit. Compassion and loyalty that were derived from the Angels, and cruelty and spite that was the bane of all demonkind. Unlike the monsters and critters that wandered the world, humans were a product from both sides.

_Something in between. Just like him._ They reminded him of _him_ , and the days where he desperately sought for a mutual understanding between both sides of the war. The times where they protected their own, and shunned the outsiders. The era that he fought with his life to cease, where everybody could find common ground and live as one. They looked past their differences, and accepted the other as a whole.

This does not seem to be the case for humans. They fight amongst themselves regardless of appearances and personalities. He did not understand. They lived such short lives, yet they found time to bicker to settle meaningless grudges.

They found him fascinating. They offered sanctuary, their food, their hospitality. They taught him their words and brought him everything they saw precious. He was put on a velvet chair, overseeing their people as they bowed down to him, showering him with lavishing gifts. He was confused by this too. While humans were more fragile than demons and angels, they were far more extravagant and materialistic, throwing elaborate parties and balls for the littlest of happenings.

The humans came and left quickly. They sat him on that throne every morning, and escorted him to his chambers every night, treating him like a glass statue. He would read at night, attempting to decipher their language on his own, realizing that they possessed more than one language. They were the same, yet their tongue was vastly different. They spoke diverse languages when their people are one in the same.

Their ceremonies were so beautifully irrelevant.

He played along, for thousands of years. Kingdoms changed, rulers rose and fell, but faces were never the same. The same routine of nothingness numbed his mind, until he was capable of predicting a human’s every move. _Their ugly faces behind their mask_. While people changed and souls shifted, they were the same.

Humans. The best and worst creation from the divine realms.

How pathetic. He felt sorry for them.

It’s been five thousand years since he descended to the mortal realm. Every day, every century was the same, monotonous lifestyle that was brought to him by insolent beings that took pride in their limited lifespan. He’d morphed into a form that was suitable to their eyes, so they would stop worshipping as a higher being and treat him as their equal. He was tired of endless prayers and sacrifices made in his name throughout the years.

Nowadays, he lived in solitude, far from human beings. He preferred to stay with the descendants critters he befriended so long ago, lying in the grass as a rabbit napped on his chest. There was no need for rush; he would be here even after time ends, if that were possible.

His peaceful life didn’t last long, however, as a new set of humans made their way to cultivate the land near him. However, unlike their predecessors, they were stronger and smarter. They utilized magic into their weapons, armor and tools. They ran the fields without a trace of exhaustion, and healed injuries in mere seconds or with colorful brews. They were more advanced than the last generation of humans—if these humans could even be called humans.

They appeared to be human, but the thing that made humans what they truly were was absent. Humans were fragile, dependent, pretentious, and powerless. This new group was anything but that. Yet they still spoke the same tongue as they did once upon a time, all the other languages gone without a trace.

One day, a green-clothed man knocked on his door. He opened it, taking the form as one of their own to not alarm the mortal.

“Hello,” said the man. On his face was a porcelain mask. It was crude and poorly made by divine standards, but it fit the man’s tastes just fine. “Have you been living here for long?” He held out his hand. “We just moved here, and we were wondering if we would disturb you if we built here…”

He glanced at the man. He remembered the group was painfully small in numbers. In the past, a simple house would have taken tens of men to build. Even if they were skilled, it would take at least weeks to even scaffold the walls.

“I have been here for a while.” _For hundreds of years_. His voice was soft, with the hum of the heavens and the screams of the underworld resonating as he spoke. “And no, I do not mind. As long as I am left alone.”

The man shifted on his feet awkwardly and took back his hand. “Oh, okay.” He shrugged, finding it difficult to befriend someone half his height than him. “I guess we’ll start building? Please tell us if we’re bothering you in any shape or form. We’ll build somewhere far from here.”

He nodded. “I suppose that is the best course of action.”

“Yeah, it is. What’s your name, by the way?” the man asked. “I’m Dream. And no offense, but… you seem a little out of touch with the world.”

He tilted his head. “Names?” he repeated. _Titles. Titles that mortals give and take_. The same mortals that now reside six feet beneath earth. “I do not have one,” he confessed. “You are free to call me whatever you like.”

The man with the title _Dream_ scratched the back of his head. His body language conveyed confusion, which was something he learned to pick up from his time in human churches. Perhaps he didn’t understand what he was saying? He had seen the same faces of confusion when he tried to communicate with his native languages.

“I can repeat myself if you did not grasp my sentient,” he offered.

_Dream_ shook his head. “No, that’s not it. How long have you been out here, alone?” His voice was one of surprise. The peacekeeper did not understand why he would be expressing shock.

“I am not alone,” he argued, voice still ominously monotone. “I have animals, the wind, and trees. When it is night, the stars and moon will keep me company. I am anything but by myself.”

The mortal did not look convinced. Rather, he appeared to be taken aback by him. Maybe a language barrier still persisted, or he was rusty in _English_? That could not be the case. The mortal comprehended his words earlier.

“I…” _Dream_ stuttered. Was he afraid? Was this form still menacing to humans? He had based this appearance off younglings, as humans gave them affection and shielded them from harm. Younglings were harmless and naïve. “Are you okay living like this? In solitude? Do you need friends?”

“Friends,” he muttered. A term used to describe a bond between two humans. A book once told the story between two royalty who were willing to sacrifice their kingdoms for each other. The author described it as friendship. It sounded odd—he did not comprehend why humans were willing to surrender their own lives for another person. It was uncharacteristic for them. Humans are naturally selfish and evil.

“Yes. Friends.” _Dream_ cleared his throat, gesturing to the direction he traveled from. “Do you want to meet mine?”

Friendship between humans. For all the years he lived, it was something he never truly witnessed. Feasibly, this new generation, this new breed – may be the first to ever defy his expectations and observations.

“I am not against the idea.”

“Is… that a yes?”

“Yes. That is a yes. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No, you don’t have to. Come on, I’ll show you the way. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

He hadn’t known then, but this meeting would lead to the requiem of something more.

Five years passed in the blink of an eye. During this time, he learned many things. He learned that humans grow as they age, as they do not emerge from birth fully coherent and with a purpose. He shifted his form to befit his “friends’” appearances, for him to blend in better with them. They taught him why they laugh, why water would leak from their eyes, and why they scream at others sometimes after mistakes. They were _emotions_. Something he didn’t possess since his creation.

The six others had names, not titles. Names were to identify themselves, and sometimes carrying sentience.

George, the one who told him he can’t see certain colors. He was a defect human, but he compensated for his intelligence. (Perhaps humans sacrifice some parts of their capability for other aspects like demons do. Interesting.) He was the most accepting when Dream showed up to their camp with a complete stranger, and he warmed up to him quickly.

Sam, a hybrid between two creatures; one a human, the other a creeper. (This was odd, for sure. He’d been mildly taken aback when he learned that Sam was too a mix of two opposing worlds, like him.) He recognized the monster as a creation from the ⎓╎∷ᒷ Era, used as a weapon against the Angels to conquer their ᓵ𝙹リᓭ𝙹ꖎᒷ.

Alyssa, a woman who didn’t speak much. (She covered her mouth all the time, maybe to hide something. He didn’t pry.) She was fully human, but she leaned closer to the demon side, more than any humans that he’d ever met. She confirmed she came from a normal family and had a regular, human life, but he could sense that she had an affinity for chaos and destruction.

Sapnap, the youngest between them all, and a loud human who refused to sit still. (He reminded him of someone in his past. Someone who stuck by his side for hundreds of years before he eventually passed, their wings drooping as they spoke their final words.)

Ponk, an eccentric man who was between meek and borderline mad. While he was timid and soft-spoken, he was also considered a hazard to animals, second to only Sapnap. (He didn’t appreciate this, not one bit. These critters were offspring of the same animals that used to stay by his side thousands of years ago.) He listened to the man talk about casinos, gambles, and any mortal enjoyments and thrills he knew. Ponk was flabbergasted when the peacekeeper told him he’d once witnessed a worldwide gamble between 47 nations.

Callahan, a mute mortal. Like George, he too had defects in his form. He could not speak, but he had a better grasp of magic than his peers. He learned to harness the scattered magic left from the War of !¡ᒷᔑᓵᒷ, and channeled them into their weapons and tools. (Human bodies were too soft to handle magic. To possess magic within a body would mean destruction from within. Like fire sitting in their livers, waiting for fuel to burn them alive from the inside.) Callahan knew his limits, unlike past humans who willingly sold their lives for scraps of power. He himself held more wisdom than his predecessors combined.

They were all welcoming, and yet… not like the humans from the past. They were truthful, straightforward, acting from the goodness of their hearts instead of minerals from the ground. _Angels to their friends, and demons to those who dare hurt them_. Yes, this was definitely for the best. They’ve combined and utilized the best of both worlds. How smart.

They’ve also given him a name of his own. It was something that came off a whim, after he told them stories of his endeavors in the past, trying to restore peace to the two divine realms. They’d laughed, and he could not blame them. Such tales were far too grand and vast for any mortal to understand. Still, he took the name, and became one of their own.

BadBoyHalo. It was an odd name; in fact, nearly every mortal here had names he’d never heard before. Times have truly changed, and they were a reminder of his eternal life.

Even after thousands of years, human nature never changes. Violence is deeply embedded in their veins. War runs freely in their blood. The same sword they point to monsters could easily be turned against their own. Bad saw this coming ever since he met them. _The spark in their eyes. The fire that burns their hearts and soul relentlessly until they’re nothing more than a hollow shell yearning for disarray_.

Humans thrive because of war. They prosper from the winnings of conflict and leech off misery of their fallen enemies. They are born with it, and they will die carrying the fire that burned lives to the floor. They can never be extinguished, never be put out regardless of the devastation that comes with. These mortals, his _friends_ , were more martyrs in the texts of history.

He decided to leave them, leave the war and grief that followed. He was tired of mortals believing that contradiction was the stem of righteousness.

Bad only returned when it was all over. By then, times have changed once more, so much in a little period of time. The people he once called friends have fallen apart, driven away from one another because of power. How superficial. They burned to ash as the fire in them burned too bright. _They gave the flames too much fuel, until it thirsted for nothing but power_. A firm companionship ripped to shreds as they were presented with a predictable variable.

All of this wreckage was to be expected, ever since Dream knocked on his door that day. The same man that was responsible for every broken bonds. They were stronger than previous humans, but also more dangerous and predictable. No matter. He would find people who did not seek altercation; but rather each other.

These new mortals had the names of Antfrost and Skeppy. Sam joined their ensemble, as he agreed with his ideals of remaining far from the mainland happenings.

Antfrost was a hybrid, but with a feline rather than a monster. It was a counterweapon used by angels to defeat the explosive monsters they dub “Creepers”. Their original names were ᓭ𝙹⚍ꖎ ᓭ⚍ᓵꖌᒷ∷ᓭ and ʖ𝙹𝙹ᒲ ʖ𝙹𝙹ᒲ. It intrigued him how their instincts reflected their ancestors millions of years ago, where Sam never rested easy whenever Antfrost was around him.

Skeppy was a new species that Bad never encountered. Granted, he never ventured underground, where it reminded him of the Underworld, but Skeppy was new to his eyes. Appearing to be a dark-skinned humanoid, his skin was littered with gemstones akin to diamonds mortals use to decorate their bodies. He looked human, yet he was anything but. Magic brought him to life like how breathing kept humans alive.

Fascinating. There were more remnants of wars than he thought. _Left behind magic. Creatures abandoned by time_. They soaked in the grounds and created new lives that blossomed by their own, unattended. He was the only one to know of their existences. No pure-bloods have left their realms, and they would never leave for a realm that’d served as the dumpster for the wars.

If Bad had not united the two Bloods, the place where his friends lived would be reduced to a wasteland. His adventures weren’t all that fruitless, after all.

“Bad?”

Bad turned to Skeppy, who sat himself by him, fully at ease. If he’d know what his true form was, would he still smile at him then? Skeppy was the one thing he did not understand. He was nothing like humans.

“Yes, Skeppy?”

“You’re not exactly like the others, are you?”

“No.” Bad swiveled back to the moon. “How’d you guess?” They sat on their roof in silence, one bringing questions and the other holding answers. Answers to things that mortals would never understand. “You’re… the first to ask me such. Have you been practicing magic recently?”

Anyone who dabbled in magic always claimed they saw stars during daytime and talked to people that weren’t there. Bad was certain his disguise was nothing but perfect, and he did not sense abnormal aura around Skeppy. Possibly his kind have evolved beyond the form he had taken. Only recently did he learn of hybrids like Fundy and Ranboo.

Skeppy shook his head. “Of course not,” he rebutted. “You are… unusual. You act from necessity, not from volitation. You build houses, but you do not live in them. You hunt for food, but you never eat. You swim in rivers, but you never bathe. You are not like humans, and you are not like me. You are like no one.”

Bad tilted his head. It was a habit he learned from humans. They express uncertainty in many shape and forms. This happened to be one of them.

“I am fairly surprised you’ve kept track of my habits,” Bad confessed, still without an ounce of emotion. His tone was soft and kind, but the essence was never truly there. He’d lived with falsehoods for years, to blend amongst humans, to create a façade of a human—nevertheless, they were all for naught if one mortal saw through his deceits. 

Then again, Skeppy was not like the others. He was different from the others; both in flesh and soul.

Skeppy shrugged, curling his knees and wrapping his arms around them. “There are stories, from long ago.” He glanced at Bad. “Stories of an Eternal Peacekeeper.” Bad’s ears perked. “The Peacekeeper that perished from the Divine Realms after he fulfilled his purpose, escaping to the Bridge amidst mortals, overlooking new generations.”

“They are stories, yes.” Bad was well acquainted with the tales being told in his name. Though, he wasn’t certain that they were still relevant in this age and time, let alone being known in the realm of mortals. _A domain where no demon nor angel bothered to roam_. “Where have you heard of them?”

“They were told to me,” Skeppy said. “By my Creator.” He spun to the front, obsidian eyes narrowing. “Is it true?” His fingers tightened around his knees. “The stories?”

Surprise wasn’t the description that would fit this information. He was well aware that Skeppy’s identity was more than a mortal’s, hence the magic flowing in his body. Magic that he was well-versed with, nonetheless. Powers that were remnants of the old wars that scarred and shaped the lands today.

“Who is your Creator?” _Angels. Demons. A maker who shaped lifeforms for war_.

“I do not remember their name. But I am made to serve a purpose.” _Purpose. Born to serve. Born to give. There is no escape from this so-called destiny_.

“What would that purpose be?”

“To be an eternal servant.” Skeppy’s eyes slid to Bad, this time carrying understanding. “To the Peacekeeper.” Bad stared at him. “To you.”

Ever since Skeppy revealed himself to be a deliberate creation, more odd happenings have been occurring throughout Bad’s life. Rather than the tasteless, orchestrated agendas; more truths began to show themselves to him in spite of his will.

The first variable was Puffy. Though her appearance was one of a human-ram hybrid, Bad clearly saw through her façade and determined that she too, was not human. More accurately, she was a demon that possessed Farsight, although limited. She’d bowed and introduced herself to Bad, claiming to be a servant sent from the Underworld to fulfill his every need.

The other, however, was Quackity. At first, the man expressed no interest in interacting with the Peacekeeper, but he soon presented himself as another servant, albeit from the heavens. He hid his wings and halo well, but it was his erratic emotional displays that caught Bad’s intuition off-guard. Divinity do not have emotions nor express them. It was part of the reason why the wars took millennia to resolve. 

It was… inconvenient. It appeared that he had not been forgotten by the two realms.

Skeppy did not like the appearance of two new servants sent from different realms. While he was shaped by crystals and molded with magic, Puffy and Quackity were sculpted to appear like humans. Smaller, more expressive, and less volatile. Skeppy often referred to Puffy and Quackity as “discount Skeppys”, and Bad finds it odd when the three started bickering amongst each other. Even more so when they turned on each other as Bad agreed that Skeppy was correct.

“Go back to Hell, Puffy! We don’t need a demon like you here!”

Puffy gasped. “By Eldrai’s name, hat mindset do you even have? We’ve long passed the racist era like, six thousand years ago. I’m only here to make sure Bad is safe from any danger.”

“I’m not being racist, Puffy. All I’m saying is that too many people flocking around Bad like ducklings is clearly a horrible idea. I’ve been here longer than you have and I understand humans better than you do. What good are you if you don’t even understand how to eat _food_?”

The demon blushed, a dark hue rising to her cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Sustenance, like hydration, is not required for us to live.” Bad tilted his head at the duo. “Have the Divine changed since my departure?”

Puffy blew her bangs from her face, exasperation settling in as Quackity crossed his arms. “It is part of our training,” she explained. “‘To shield the Peacekeeper, means one must sacrifice divinity. To consume mortal food and lurk within their cottages, to walk and not fly nor leap, to rest in darkness and awake in light.’”

“That is an accurate briefing of a human’s necessities,” Bad acknowledged. “When I met you, I was not aware that you were divinity, let alone servants sent from the Realms.”

“You speak like someone from 7000 Pre-Peace.” Quackity scoffed. “Lighten up, BadBoyHalo. I know it’s been a _long_ time since you’ve talked to any of us divine people, but we’re not in hell or heaven. We’re with humans in the Bridge. You can loosen up.”

“Loosen up?” Bad quizzed. “I do not understand.”

“It means that you should relax,” Puffy interjected, patting Bad on the shoulder. He was shorter than Quackity and Skeppy, but taller than Puffy. “The wars are over, Bad. We’re here to make sure you’re safe, so you don’t need to worry about any assassinations from either realm, or poisoned swords or corrupted magic. We were born to serve the Peacekeeper, and this is our purpose.”

Where had he heard those exact words before? ( _From a nameless atrocity who desperately sought for a place to call home._ )

Bad was well aware that his location was exposed to the Divine ever since Skeppy showed up in his doorstep. He should have known that his life in the Bridge was no longer hidden, but it was only when Quackity knelt before him, bringing an invite that was only spoken in angelic hums, that he realized he was still remembered by them yet. A celebration between the two races, to honor the union he’d brought.

_They’ve found him. His hiding was for naught. Even through time his existence remained throughout the Realms. Like an old deity who still clings to life. A spirit who wanders but no longer matters_.

“Man,” Quackity grunted, getting to his feet. An overlay of hums still lingered in his voice. “I haven’t spoken ᓭꖌ||⎓ᔑꖎꖎ in such a long time. How do you manage it?”

Bad shook his head. “I do not speak much. Ever since I was created, it has been proven to me that actions speak far louder than words. I believe that is a mortal saying, but it applies to my adventures the same.”

From afar, they turned their heads to a female voice calling out Bad’s name. Puffy sprinted towards him, and lowered herself to a knee as she relayed the same message, albeit in demonic distortions. Quackity stared at her, confusion riddling his face, but Bad acknowledged every word.

“Quackity has already informed me of the Parciela Gala.” Bad put a hand on Puffy’s shoulder as she stumbled to stand. “You are only five seconds too late.”

Puffy cursed under her breath. “Oh my Lucifer. Quackity, I will put a rope around your neck and—”

“Gabriel! Are you demons all so damn violent?” Quackity spat back. “It’s just an invite in another language. Do I look like I know how to speak crazy?”

“It’s called ⎓╎∷ᒷ∷⚍リᒷᓭ,” Puffy snapped, crossing her arms. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. If Bad’s going to go, he has to represent _both_ sides, not just one. It’s why we were both sent to protect him, not just one of us.”

Quackity stared at her as if she’s lost her mind. “Heaven didn’t tell me that you were going to be here,” he said. “Did Hell tell you I was here?”

Puffy paused. “No. They said Bad was going to be exposed to… _things_. They didn’t tell me you were coming. In fact, they told me that I should keep him from any angels if possible. I ignored that because it was stupid.”

The two frowned at each other, feet tapping and brainstorming possible solutions, but only one came to mind, and one that was supposed to be forbidden for millennia.

Oh.

Oh no.

“That would explain the difference in the invites,” Bad spoke up. The two turned to him. “Both asked of me to attend the Gala, however, the realm they ask me to represent is only one-sided.” He looked down, staring at the grass, and a flower that bloomed delicately. “My work has been in vain. In my absence, I see the spark of hatred still stirs the pot. My journey is not over yet.”

_~~Why is it not over? It should be over, thousands and thousands of years ago.~~ _ ~~~~

“I will go to the Gala,” Bad continued. “But in neutral terms. I will not favor a side over the other.”

Just as they were about to come to a conclusion, the third invite had come to him, in the form of the original Skeppy kneeling before him. Though this time, he did not speak neither divine languages, but rather, a whole new one. One that Bad grasped perfectly, in spite of his new introduction towards it.

Quackity and Puffy exchanged glances.

“What did he just say?” Puffy asked.

Skeppy rose and glowered at her. “Nothing that’s concerning _you_.”

Bad turned to the demon. “It is another invite.” (They graciously ignored Skeppy’s screams, “There’s more?!”) “But not to the Gala. But to…”

_Someplace he’s forgotten. The country that worshipped him as their god for thousands of years_.

“To the Badlands.”


End file.
